GRAZED Original Story
by QuinNX
Summary: Quinn Harper is a girl with one hell of an attitude and the power to match. With her team of Mason and Ben, she works as a bounty hunter. Which was starting to get boring for 16 year old teen, but having agreed to a deal to help out despite her past, she would stick around until the contract was fulfilled...or would she? Because despite running, her past catches up to her.
1. Chapter 1: Quinn Harper

"Please, please, please" the hobbled man sobbed; he collapsed against the wall, his tears pooled in the pavement. I sighed; did anybody ever use their manners before the crime? No. So, why do they only decide to start being polite once their lives are on the line?

Does it really take a knife to the throat to have someone spit out a simple 'please' or 'thank you' once in a while?

Well I suppose I shouldn't expect much from my line of work. All I deal with is gangsters, drug lords and all the other riffraff whose good-for-nothing fathers, weren't around to smack any respect into them.

That's where I am able to offer my services, being a good samaritan. I help people learn to play by the rules.

Continuing to sob, he cradled his broken ribs. Fractured or broken? I'm fairly sure I heard a snap; I'm going to place a bet of twenty on broken. I crouched down to the sniveling heap, my knife loosely held in my right hand. I began to toy with it, swinging the blade for a dramatic effect.

(Did I forget to mention that I'm a bit of a show off.)

"Rudolph… you know we wouldn't be having this problem if you could keep those flapping lips of yours shut. You knew there was a bounty on your head and you still went parading around like a kid in a candy store, didn't you? So you can't really blame anyone but yourself for the situation your in. Can you?" I tilted my head and placed my chin in the palm of my left hand.

I tapped my fingers rhythmically along my jaw, my eyes smiling, studying his pain.

"Lemme go" he coughed, wheezing each syllable.

I shook my head; they were all the same, so boring. They'd either beg for their lives or curse at me. Most of the time, both seemed to be popular options. They'd swear and mumble all while never able to look me in the eye.

I smiled down at his face, leaning in closely.

I knew he would be the type to go from begging to abuse in three… two…

"You think this is funny you little… I'll kill y- _ack_ " I jabbed my hand to his throat before he could continue.

He didn't find that funny.

Surprisingly, neither did I. Why did I always have to be right?

"Oh tut-tut. And to think, you were being _so_ polite. How disappointing" I said faintly, beginning to tire of this old routine.

Releasing my hand I stared at his lumpy boulder of a head, his squinty black eyes spilling with tears, his large red nose leaking and swelling, mixing with the sweat beads on his forehead. The little black hair that he had on his head had been combed over to give a non-convincing illusion of a head of hair. He was considerably short, and despite his extra large shirt, his clothes were tight around his thirty years in the making, potbelly. Two of the buttons on his designer coat had popped off from the growing mass. Although he smelled of raw pork, he was wearing some expensive cologne. I glanced at his newly bought watch, the face had cracked.

Damn, I had wanted to sell that online, it won't be worth nearly as much now.

"S-Screw you" he spat, regaining his confidence. My patience was growing thinner.

"Pipe down!" I lifted my foot and knocked him out with one kick to the skull. Choked breaths spluttered as he slept. He was lucky it didn't killing him. A beep sounded in my ear. I reached my index finger to the small earpiece.

" _Ok, I'm coming to pick him up in five. Try not to beat his pretty face too badly_ " I heard Mason remark, my earpiece crackled, ending the transmission.

I leaned against the dark alley. The grey paint had chipped to reveal cracks snaking through the bricks. The only source of light was a flickering pink neon sign giving the alley a red glow, the dirty puddles of water reflected the light, and the mix of blues and pinks were actually quite bewitching. I pulled out my earphones and blocked out his heavy breathing.

After six and a half minutes (around two songs later), I saw a pair of lights searching through the darkness of the street; they had finally come to pick up tubby.

"All right Rudolph we're going for a quick ride" I muttered, I guessed his drooling mind wouldn't have much of an opinion.

Mason really needed to pick up his game, six minutes was far too slow. Actually when was Mason ever late? The rev of the tires was all-wrong. Crap, how could I not have noticed, that was not our van.

A beaten vehicle had raced to a halt pulling up, pouncing up onto the isolated street, closing off the exit. Footsteps busily scattered out, pouring from the doors of the van and out onto the pavement, to pounce upon my prey.

How dare they.

 _He was mine._

I emerged quickly stepping between my newfound playmates and my victim who was still out cold, taking my knife out of my jacket pocket. Around seven men in cheap knock-off designer shoes, baggy ripped jeans and turned up collar shirts, stood in front of their pimped van.

They were all reeking of extra strength deodorant and waxy hair gel.

I turned my head in disgust, my poor nose didn't need to suffer this kind of abuse.

Most of them seemed to be walking meat with veined muscles and pudgy middles, except for the driver who was hanging at the back and the guy in the middle who was poking out behind his big tough friends.

From the way they all were forming around him I would guess he was their leader. The lights flooding the alley blurred their faces. I didn't exactly picture them looking like glamorous supermodels.

Maybe these _were_ Rudolph's friends after all, they certainly had his fashion sense. Too bad he and I were growing so close.

"Right boys, gather up tha' mess and let's get outa this bloody dump," the wanna-be thug in the middle ordered, stepping forward, placing him in my sight. His front teeth were gritty and yellow, the gums around them looked black (obviously a smoker, and judging by his twitchy nature, nicotine probably wasn't his only addiction).

He had large dark circles under his tinted blue eyes and his paper-thin skin was luminescent, showing his jagged cheekbones.

He reminded me of the leftovers from weasel road kill.

"Ello' Rustolf, gotten in a little scrap I see, and with such a scrawny little rival!" he directed his attention to the man unconscious on the floor, hopefully not expecting any response.

If so he would be quite disappointed.

Then he turned his focus to me, my face shadowed inside my hooded jacket.

"Come closer lad, let me see ya. You know it aint' respectful to hold a knife to your elders" he placed one hand on his hip and used the other to wiggle his finger, beckoning.

Seems he underestimated me. I couldn't help but laugh. I suppose it was an insult but I doubt the brick wall that was his brain, would realise until he actually saw me. How predictable.

So I accepted his invitation, approaching him, I took each confident step more slowly paced then the previous. His stance completely changed from arrogant command to nothing more than a shocked and bewildered child. I had lifted up my hoody to have a good look at idiot number one. My pure white hair glowed, exposed to the moonlight. The long strands poured out of my hoodie and onto my shoulders. My blue eyes shone in the thrill of combat.

"Huh? Wait a minute it's you! You're the bloody tramp who killed the whole Monnock Gang" I flinched at 'killed', but didn't let my smug grin fade, finally things were spicing up. He dove into his pocket and pulled out his pistol, gripping with both of his unsteady hands directing it at my head.

His form was all wrong, with his left foot off balance, the crooked way he was holding his gun and the nervous shakes in his wrists.

Even the position he held it blocked his vision when aiming, in total, he was going to make one hell of a lousy shot.

If he dared to pull the trigger.

Meanwhile Clark Rustolf began to stir, poor baby caught up in all of the drama.

"W- _Whassis_?" He slurred trying to open his eyes one at a time.

"Shush now dopey, this doesn't concern you." I answered his befuddled question.

All of the minions began to stand around confused at their bosses' fearful recognition. In their eyes I was just a weak little girl with a knife.

That hurt, did they really not recognise me? The heartbreak, just shoot me in the heart and get it over with.

"Oh come on, is this really fair? All of you strong boys against me and a flimsy little knife" I complained.

Inside I was maniacally laughing, they were actually baffled to find that, the big bad wolf stood in their way, was just little old me.

My comment had made all of the henchmen turn to their boss for guidance. Seeming to question why they were all needed for this one job with nobody worthy of a fight. Or so they thought.

I added in an innocent pout, quite convincingly in my opinion, just for fun. I should join a drama club; with my acting skills I'd probably become the next big thing.

"All of you watch this one, right'. She's _the_ Eris that everyone's been whispering bout lately" he snarled, that got everyone's attention. Finally some recognition, you do all this work and it takes this long for people to even know who you are. Although I wondered what had caused people to label me 'Eris', it had caught on like wildfire. Who was I to argue? The people had spoken.

Even Rudolph subconsciously groaned at my feared name. I found five more guns pointed at me now, nobody was questioning Weasel anymore.

Perhaps I would put my acting career on pause.

With all eyes and six of the seven guns on me, was I worried about becoming a new target practice for the mindless shooters?

 _No._

Should I have been?

Also _no._

They were the one's who should have felt intimidated.

Of course they had heard the rumours, but a rumour is only as reliable as the person who tells it. You never know the truth until you see it for yourself.

Hopefully they would learn that Grandma can turn out to be the Big-Bad wolf.

"Well boys, I suppose it would be _impossible_ to stop you from taking my boy, who's charmingly drooling on the floor over here, I mean I am completely outnumbered considering it's roughly two against six… I'm meeeeeaaan, ah I'm at least worth two of you, but even so," I exclaimed, bowing my head in defeat in a curtsy, hiding the wicked grin spreading on my face. They all stood around uncomfortably, waiting for the 'OK' from their boss to shoot, but he was so focused on watching my every movement, that he forgot to actually think.

Lower class criminals were dreadful at multitasking; people should keep that in mind when looking for employees. The driver coughed breaking the silence looking me in the eyes.

"But. I have always been so stubborn, I don't really believe in 'impossible'." I lifted my gloating smile to meet their Weasels eyes, frozen in uncertainty.

Perfect.

I knew they were expecting me to start doing flips and fly up in slow motion or something ridiculously clichéd. I wondered what kinds of ridiculous rumours they'd heard.

So instead I held out my knife and precisely aimed the blade. With a swift flick, it flashed down. Everyone watched in awe as the knife found its target, right into Rudolph's fat meaty temple.

One Bullet, location right shoulder.

Two bullets, location upper throat.

Three bullets, location right abdomen.

Four bullets, location below left eye.

Five bullets, location lower left ribcage.

Six bullets, location grazed throat.

And naturally like any person after being shot six times, I died.


	2. Chapter 2: Getting Shot Hurts

Jeez, that third bullet got stuck in the worst place. It was not going to be fun trying to pop it out.

I laid still on the cold wet road, the gravel and dirt sticking to my skin, the back of my head throbbing from the impact of the bullets. Their velocity had knocked me back harder than expected.  
Sheesh are there are just no gentlemen left in the world. I can't believe they shot me six times. SIX!

I distantly heard the men bickering in panic."Well what the hell do we do now?"  
"The boss is gonna be pissed"  
"I wasn't even supposed to come tonight!"  
"Rustolf's dead, he was the only one that knew where the rest of the bosses money is. Now even though he's dead, it's gonna be our heads on the line" the group was grumbling.  
They were so inconsiderate, here I lay dead and they were only worried about themselves.

I would kill them all.

No, that was an over reaction, it happens every time.  
I lightly flickered one eye open, the night sky was beautiful, but it wasn't the scenery I was interested in.

I was able to see that the weasel was still frozen in place; he was just terrible at this. He must have heard the worst rumours about me; maybe he believed he was now cursed.  
Obviously the first step in a situation gone wrong would be to hide the evidence, which in this case were the two dead bodies (well technically 'body') lying on the ground.  
Instead he just panicked and provided no leadership for the equally dazed idiots.

Where do gangs find these people? Do they approach every high school crack head and just offer them a job in a criminal organisation?

I was sent the mission of tracking down Rudolph for the bounty on his head. It was so easy finding him I may as well have been taking candy from a baby (a really fat ugly baby).  
Apparently he never learned the concept of saving and spent most of the stolen money on a two million dollar house.  
A little suspicious, considering before he lived in a one bedroom apartment.

I had been following him for a week. Waiting until he made the phone call detailing where he'd stashed the twenty four million.  
By now I was getting tremendously bored tailing the swine, so I was overjoyed once he had just finished dinner at a restaurant on the east side of the city, when he made the call (on his brand new mobile phone). He didn't even tip the waitress, I followed him further and then I chased him into the alleyway. And didn't that plan just turn out peachy keen for me.

My mouth silently spat out the grit that mixed with blood in my mouth.

The whole group started opening up the truck and laid out a sheet to role Rudolph up into. Weasel had regained a fraction of his composure and started ordering them around.  
It required most of them to lift Rudolph up into the sheet.

Stupidly, none of the henchmen were watching my body.

While they were busy, I started to get up, wiping the blood that had dripped from below my eye. Silently I reached into my personal supply of goodies strapped on my waist. I was now holding my favourite 9-millimetre semi-automatic pistol (well one of my favourites. Can you blame me?! I can't have just one favourite, it's like a parent choosing their favourite child… well I suppose some parents must have their favourites, they just don't say it out loud… makes you wonder which side of the coin you're on right?).

I could kill them all, which would solve the issue of being shot again.  
My eyes gleamed at the possibility of a challenge.  
Three urgent beeps sounded in my earpiece. Seems Mason did not like the idea of a massacre.

Of course I had realised he had been watching me the whole time, but it was unlike him to go undercover.  
A little warning would have been nice.  
But, he was right. If we killed them, it would just draw a big target on our groups back. It'd be like declaring war.

I put away my gun and nodded putting on my miniaturised gas mask, in the pocket of my tool belt on my black tight pants. That was when one of the members noticed my bleeding body alive and standing.

I must have looked like something straight from a horror movie. Covered in bullet holes with blood pouring out of my body and a mask covering half of my face.

I waved at him, smiling underneath the mask. His face went pale, he went to yell but instead collapsed to the ground.  
The sound of the 'thud' alerted the rest of the men, but before they could do anything about it, the rest of them fell like human dominos.  
Until only two people were left standing.

When the three beeps had sounded again, I removed my mask and looked at Mason who did the same.  
"Not like you to go undercover, although wonderful acting skills as the brooding driver, bravo. You really are amazing. The way that you just stood there and said nothing, even when I got shot. Six times by the way. Wonderfully done" I taunted, slowly clapping.  
"We both knew that was going to happen anyway, besides it's not like the bullets were made of silver or anything." He said.  
"I'm not a frickin werewolf" I scorned.  
"Could have fooled me" He retorted. I punched him in the arm, smiling and scrunching my face at him.

Mason, the head of our little team, he was a natural leader and one glance at the guy let you know you could rely on him. The way his broad shoulder straightened in perfect posture, he had been bread into the perfect soldier.  
I had always wondered why he didn't work for Avia's Military. Especially with his father being the Sergeant Major in command. But the tease wouldn't tell me. Oh no he had to be Mr. Mysterious.

It drove me crazy with curiosity as to why he wasn't part of WING's operative squad. An elite force in the military full of perfect young recruits just like him. Not only that but he was working as a bounty hunter. A bounty hunter of all things! In this city we were given about the same respect as the criminals we caught.  
Still the idea of why he'd leave a life of honour and medals for... well whatever this is, was so tempting of a puzzle.

Mason began to remove his disguise, taking off his beanie to reveal his neatly trimmed brown hair, spiking naturally up.  
He began swapping his cheap jumper for the usual dark navy jacket and taking off his pretty gold necklaces.  
I admired his taste in jewellery, and normally I'm not a fan of gold chains.

After looking like his usual self, he observed the mess of unconscious thugs.  
Despite having a lean form he was surprisingly strong. His arms were muscled but had more power than they let on.  
He lifted each of the over three hundred pound men into the van, one by one.

I could have helped but I had just been shot, so I think I deserved to sit back and watch him do the work.  
He didn't complain, he just continued to haul in each drugged out body. He would have to leave them somewhere, alive, so that they could run back to their bosses and tell them about Rudolph's death. That way nobody would send out more henchman to come find him. Although based on previous experience, the idiots would probably be killed for their failure.

"You know I could have taken them all out, there was no need to use the human bug spray," I pouted pretending to be insulted.  
"I'm sure your capable, but I wanted to avoid any unnecessary action," he lectured.

"When you coughed, I do hope that meant I could kill him" my eyes glancing over to the body in the van.  
"Otherwise we have a slight problem," I said, beginning to prod the lifeless body of Clark Rustolf.  
"I weighed the odds. This was the best option." Mason replied. Of course he wouldn't tell me why but I could think of a few good reasons.  
"Well then why didn't this entourage come after him sooner? Couldn't they have, I don't know tortured him for it or something?" I asked poking the other unconscious bodies.  
I was tempted to write 'Pumpkin face' on one of the goons forehead, but then I saw Masons eyes glare in disapproval as though he could read what I was thinking.

"He had hidden the money in a place that was set to burn if a message with a specific code word wasn't received at a certain time, all of the money would be gone and…" he continued to explain the situation further for the next few minutes, despite the fact that I already knowing most of that information, Mason still went into 'mentor mode' with excessive detail.

"Right, all of this is making me bored. Isn't there anything else more interesting to mess around in?"  
"Not to your tastes, there isn't," he answered.

Of course not, because nothing fun ever happens, this was all just so annoying. A sharp throb spiked into my neck.  
They never used me for anything important. My eye twitched.  
Why did I get roped into this? Week after week, just because of some verbal contract I was forced into. My hand itched.  
Frustrated I punched the wall; this whole thing was just so repetitive! Mason looked up at me, troubled at my reaction.  
Why did all of these gangs even matter, it would be better to just let them rip each other to pieces. My head began to throb, not from being knocked down but rather a pain that reached throughout my nerves, the sensation of being hit over and over with a hammer kept drumming into me.

The pain was unbearable; I gripped onto my head with both hands, why couldn't I just die, I wanted to die.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I felt Mason holding my shoulders saying something inaudible. Was I on the ground or was I standing? I couldn't tell up from down, all of my senses were blocked by pure pain. I felt a sharp object pierce the skin of my arm and a cold sensation that followed.  
"Quinn, a – seconds – will – all over – hang – there." I barely heard, this had never been so strong, the wave of after shock. The consequence of dying.

The first time I had died, of course I was beyond shaken and terrified of myself, but it had only resulted in a small headache (and a tiny bit of psychological trauma, of course I'm completely stable now… what don't believe me?).

Gradually every time I died, which has been far too many times in my opinion, I would receive a small headache.  
For me the price of dying was little to pay, with only two side affects. One the headaches, and the second was something I hadn't fully figured out yet.

Every time I died, I became less… well, I suppose less human. I would gradually act in chaotic outbursts. If I continued to die in times too close to each other, I would become more and more bloodthirsty.

My current solution is a 'not-so-effective' plan of: Don't Die. Simple right?  
So why am I in a business where killing happens everyday? Because if I die without killing someone soon after, the little empathy I have goes poof.

l lose control (and trust me, that was something that only a psychopath with a fetish for blood baths would want to see).

And this is the best solution I've come up with. A sort of balance of the two I suppose. So I chose an occupation where, my victims were soulless criminals, who did nothing but ruin the world and lives of people around them. Problem solved. Some may not see my reasoning for killing valid, but when given two options, I chose the lesser of two evils. (Why not just go for a job that doesn't involve killing all together? You may as well be asking a mosquito to stop trying to suck the blood from your arm, even if it knows it's going to get squished)


End file.
